He nodded with grim triumph. She smiled.
“You did, that's a fact,” she said. “I was pretty mad at the time, but when I come to think it over I felt diff'rent. Anyhow I've sewed on those buttons the way they'd ought to be.”
“Much obliged. I guess they'll stay now for a spell. You always could sew on buttons better'n anybody ever I see.”
“Humph!” . . . Then, after an interval of silence: “What are you grinnin' to yourself about?”
“Hey? . . . Oh, I was just thinkin' how you mended up that Rogers young one's duds when he fell out of our Bartlett pear tree. He was the raggedest mess ever I come acrost when I picked him up. Yellin' like a wild thing he was, and his clothes half tore off.”
“No wonder he yelled. Caught stealin' pears—he expected to be thrashed for that—and he KNEW Melindy Rogers would whip him, for tearin' his Sunday suit. Poor little thing! Least I could do was to make his clothes whole. I always pity a child with a stepmother, special when she's Melindy's kind.”
“What's become of them Rogerses? Still livin' in the Perry house, are they?”
“No. Old Abel Perry turned 'em out of that when the rent got behind. He's the meanest skinflint that ever strained skim milk. He got married again a year ago.”
“NO! Who was the victim? Somebody from the Feeble-Minded Home?”
She gave the name of Mr. Perry's bride, and before they knew it the pair were deep in village gossip. For many minutes they discussed the happenings in the Cape Ann hamlet, and then Seth was recalled to the present by a casual glance at his watch.